Like a lot of other folks just now, I have just about had it. It isn’t the shutdown, which is tough enough on everyone’s nerves. It isn’t the uncertainty of if or when recovery will be the order of the day. It isn’t even the teenager underfoot eating like a horse day in and day out.
I have had it with the weather. My mama would say I have a case of the plumb disgusteds.
And yes, I know the ‘official’ date of last frost for our part of the world is about April 16. I know it is plain silly to try to do anything outside until then unless you are a wheat farmer.
But for cryin out loud, there were several mild warm days, dulcet even, when the windows were open and the frogs were peeping. The barn swallows used the time to build their little muddy nests and lined them with the earliest of spring grasses that have already burned to a crisp and died off. They are ready to start their families.
Out in my yard the potatoes are beginning to sprout and the beets have two sets of leaves. Then this blue norther from who-knows-where appears with 900-mile-an-hour winds and it will be days before I can locate the sprouts under the blow sand, although they are unlikely to be harmed by the cold.
Meanwhile the little plants I have purchased or sprouted in a sunny window seem mad at the world and as sulky as I am. If they could talk I am sure the tomatoes would be using some pretty spicy language just about now. The chicks that came in the mail two weeks ago attack any greenery tossed into their indoor condo with a vengeance and I suspect at least two or three of them know they are mostly dinosaur anyway and have plans to kill us in our sleep. It’s plain to see their bloodthirsty plans in their beady little eyes.
Allegedly, by the time this gets to print, the skies will be clear, warm and sunny again. I said allegedly because I think it could be a giant conspiracy between politicians and the national weather service to keep us all from curling up in the fetal position and sucking our thumb until half past June. But we will instead soldier on, keep our plans moving and our hatstrings pulled down tight. Sooner or later spring will really arrive. I, like the rest of the state, though, hope for sooner. I don’t know how long I can fend off the chickens.
Connie Burcham can be reached at Editor@WatongaRepublican.com